


A Hero Amongst Us

by TinkerBella



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:02:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2474096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinkerBella/pseuds/TinkerBella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a bit of angst, a bit of H/C, a bit of whump for Aramis, a whole lot of whump for D'Artagnan.  The boys being awesome while being true brothers for each other.  And I've always seen D'Artagnan as being a hero who doesn't realize he's a hero, so this is about that too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hero Amongst Us

"Catch!" 

 

D'Artagnan caught the apple that Porthos tossed to him. "My thanks," he replied, shining it against his vest before biting into it.

 

Porthos nodded and grinned. "There's more where that came from," he stated, patting his saddle bag. He had gotten the rations from one of the cooks at the Duc De La Montarch's estate, where they had just finished delivering a missive in the King's name. A successful journey all around, particularly for Porthos who had spent the night in a warm bed with a willing woman, who just happened to be a most excellent cook and very generous with her larder. 

 

"It wouldn't hurt to fatten you up, D'Artagnan," Aramis allowed, accepting an apple of his own. 

 

"Why does everyone want to make me fat?" D'Artagnan shot back, glaring at his friends.

 

Athos shrugged, hiding his amusement. "We're not trying to make you fat, we're simply trying to make you less...scrawny."

 

Aramis nodded, jumping in with his own opinion. "You're little more than skin and bones. A bit more bulk will serve you well." 

 

"I'm not scrawny, I'm lean," D'Artagnan insisted, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. They made similar comments at least once a day and they were fast becoming tiresome. 

 

"Call it what you will," Porthos countered. "Still wouldn't hurt for you to eat a bit more." He was mostly teasing, because they all knew that D'Artagnan had a healthy appetite and could keep up with Porthos without gaining an ounce. But at the same time, he did worry about the boy. 

 

D'Artagnan's response was to lob his half-eaten apple at Porthos, knocking the big man's hat clean off his head, which had been his intention all along. "Bulls-eye!" D'Artagnan crowed, raising one fist in the air in triumph. 

 

Aramis was impressed. "Nicely done," he complimented. 

 

Porthos, on the other hand, was not impressed, he was outraged and determined to get revenge. Wheeling his horse around, he started riding towards D'Artagnan only to pull up hard when a woman's scream pierced the air.

 

"What was that?" Aramis hissed, his eyes darting too and fro. Another scream rent the air and they shifted as one to the East, but it was Aramis who was already on the move leaving dust in his wake. 

 

"Circle around on his flank," Athos ordered, directing D'Artagnan to his left and Porthos to his right, he would take the center as they picked their way through the trees.

 

Sliding off his horse, Porthos snatched up his hat before mounting again dashing off to catch up with the others. When another scream echoed in the air, he cursed and urged his horse to go faster.

 

Aramis came over the rise of a small hill and brought his horse to a halt. Standing in the middle of the road was a young woman, her hair disheveled her blouse torn. Slipping to the ground, Aramis dashed to her side, reaching for her, only to find himself suddenly surrounded by a dozen armed men. He made to reach for his sword only to find it in the hands of the woman, who grinned at him as she poked him in the chest.

 

"Dammit," Aramis muttered to himself as he was grabbed, his weapons confiscated and his wrists tied together behind his back. Two men flanked him, one with a gun to his gut the other with a dagger to his throat, as the other Musketeers came over the rise.

 

"Halt!" Athos called out, bringing himself, D'Artagnan and Porthos to a stand still. He would not allow any risk to Aramis.

 

A big man with red hair tied back into a braid and a bushy beard stalked over to them. "Throw down your weapons, the lot of you!" he ordered. "Or your friend here dies." He snapped his fingers and his man with the knife sliced a shallow cut across Aramis' throat to prove their intent. 

 

Athos heard the wimper that Aramis couldn't swallow and, without hesitation, looked at his companions and ordered, "Do as he says." They would not take chances with Aramis' life. Leading by example, he tossed his sword, dagger, pistol and musket to the ground.

 

D'Artagnan and Porthos followed suit.

 

The red-haired man grinned, then waved the pistol he was holding. "Now dismount and my men here will bind you. Try anything and your friend is dead."

 

"May I ask who you are?" Athos requested, as he dismounted and allowed a scruffy blond man to bind his wrists behind him. He watched as the same was done to Porthos and D'Artagnan.

 

"We call ourselves the Travellers, and I'm their ruler, Draco." As he spoke, the red-haired man offered a dramatic bow, obviously enjoying his moment in the spotlight, so to speak.

 

Athos was not impressed. "What do you want from us?" he demanded. "We are the King's Musketeers. If you wish to rob us, you will find we have no wealth to offer."

 

Draco laughed, his companions joining in. "We can see you lack wealth, but as Musketeers you can offer something far better. Entertainment!" With that he signaled to his men to grab the foursome, "Bring them to the arena."

 

The Musketeers were herded off into the back of a wagon, which brought them on a short journey to an encampment with a dozen wagons in a half circle, a fenced in area used as a corral, a spot that served as a cooking and eating area and off to the right a cleared space that formed a ring. Obviously the arena. There were crude benches lining it for seating and at the center spot a big wooden chair, an obvious mock-up of a throne.

 

The Travelers pulled the Musketeers from the wagon and lined them up, side by side near the throne. While most of the Traveler's filled the benches as spectators, a half dozen men guarded the Musketeer's as Draco walked before them. He studied each man in turn, taking time to pause in front of D'Artagnan. 

 

Draco let his eyes rove over the boy, one hand lifting to sift through the long, dark hair, laughing when D'Artagnan pulled away and glared at him.

 

Athos had had enough. "Are we to fight and die here for your amusement? If so, let us begin and be done with it." He was hoping they would be fighting against the Traveler's for he would put the skills of the Musketeers up against that of the Traveler's in a heartbeat. It would give them the chance to defeat them and escape.

 

But Draco was still focused on their youngest. "And what is your name, pretty one?"

 

"None of your business!" D'Artagnan snarled, dark eyes flashing with anger when Draco's fingertips brushed over his cheek.

 

"His name is D'Artagnan," Athos interjected, because getting Draco angry would only work against them.

 

Draco was pleased, once again tangling his fingers in D'Artagnan's dark hair and holding firm when the boy tried to pull free. "We'll have a wager," the Traveler declared as he pulled D'Artagnan over to his chair. Once there he released his hold on the thick locks so he could sit, but he retained a grip on D'Artagnan's forearm, keeping him close to his side. 

 

Athos did not like where this was heading, but he prompted, "What's the wager?"

 

"My champion will fight your chosen champion," Draco stated. "If you win, all of you are free to go. If my champion wins, D'Artagnan stays with me and the rest of you die. So who will fight for D'Artagnan and for all your lives?"

 

"I'll fight for my own freedom!" D'Artagnan snapped, glaring at Draco. "For all of us!"

 

Draco looked amused, a bit impressed even, but he shook his head. "You'll be of no use to me damaged," he stated. Then he turned to the others. "So which one of you fights?"

 

Athos stepped forward. "I will." 

 

"No!" Porthos protested, only to back down when Athos turned to glare at him.

 

"Excellent," Draco declared, thumping his fist on his chair. "Untie him so that he may battle my champion," he ordered his men.

 

In short order, Athos found himself freed and being handed a sword, which he was sorely tempted to use on Draco. 

 

As if reading his mind the Traveler grabbed D'Artagnan around the waist, pulling him onto his lap, the boy struggling fiercely against the hold until Draco whispered something in his ear which made him go stiff and still in the man's bold embrace.

 

"I don't like this," Aramis whispered, leaning in to Athos.

 

"Nor I," Athos allowed. 

 

Draco thumped his fist again and called out, "Now to meet your challenger, Musketeer. My Champion, Ravonne!" He looked excited as he spoke, eyes glinting with glee.

 

As one the Musketeers watched a man enter the arena. A man bigger than Porthos, bigger even than LaBarge. He had a broadsword in one hand and a dagger in the other.

 

"This is not going to end well," Porthos muttered.

 

"Thank you for the vote of confidance," Athos hissed back.

 

Before Pothos could respond, Athos was shoved forward into the center of the arena. He studied his opponent and knew, without doubt, the man would offer no mercy. The scars on his face and body showed him to be a fierce warrior. Athos would have to be just as fierce, but fast and light on his feet. 

 

Draco kept hold of D'Artagnan in one arm, but he waved his other arm over his head to gather everyone's attention. Once he was sure all eyes were on him, he lowered his arm and shouted, "BEGIN!"

 

The giant, Ravonne, did not hesitate. He lunged at Athos with the brute force of a bull, swinging his sword in a cleaving blow that would have beheaded the Musketeer had Athos not countered by raising his own sword and ducking just far enough out of reach.

 

And so it continued, with Ravonne attacking and Athos doing all he could to deflect the staggering blows. All too quickly he felt his strength waning and he stumbled which allowed Ravonne to knock him off his feet. Lying on the ground, his sword just out of reach, Athos looked up into the giant's face and waited for the death blow. The crowd of Traveler's were chanting now, calling for Athos' end.

 

"STOP! Please stop!" D'Artagnan cried out, louder than the chanting, desperation clear in his voice.

 

"Hold!" Draco ordered his champion, ignoring the way the giant scowled at him. But Ravonne did lower his sword and step back.

 

D'Artagnan wasted no time focusing on Draco. "Spare my friend's life and I will do whatever you want," he beseeched.

 

Draco looked intrigued. "Anything?" he echoed, smiling as D'Artagnan nodded. "Right here in front of everyone?"

 

"Free my hands and I'll show you," D'Artagnan countered, without hesitation.

 

"Indeed," Draco drawled, as he twisted D'Artagnan around in his lap and grabbed his dagger. He sliced through the ropes binding the boy's wrists behind his back then spread out his arms and requested, "Do convince me to save your friend's life."

 

Shifting, D'Artagnan straddled Draco's thighs, leaning in to whisper seductively in the other man's ear even as he rubbed his body against the Traveler. Only for Draco to grab D'Artagnan by the hair, holding him still while he claimed his mouth. He kissed the boy with open hunger, hands moving over D'Artagnan's lean body, one hand gripping a rounded buttock and squeezing. 

 

Porthos and Aramis fought against their bonds and their guards, even as Athos tried to rise to his feet, only for Ravonne to shove him back down with a giant foot, his sword to his neck.

 

But D'Artagnan had everything well in hand. As Draco pawed at the boy's shirt with the intent to take him then and there, instead he found himself gasping in pain and staring down in disabelief at the dagger sticking out of his thigh. His own dagger, that D'Artagnan had appropriated while Draco had been distracted by his own lustful desires. He continued to stare as blood spurted from his thigh, staining his breeches red in an instant.

 

D'Artagnan didn't hesitate. Rising from Draco's lap, he yanked free the dagger, turning and hurling it into Ravonne's neck in one smooth motion. Even as Draco slid from his chair and died, the giant hit the ground and lay still, dead the moment the dagger hit his throat.

 

The moment D'Artagnan had made his move, Athos was on his feet sword back in hand. He fought off a Traveler as he made his way over to Aramis to slice his bonds. Porthos barreled into his guard, forcing the man into a tree and crushing him against the trunk before allowing Athos to free him as well. They took up arms and it wasn't long before the Travelers were either dead, injured or running away.

 

The woman who had tricked them on the road was kneeling beside Draco's dead body, head down and weeping. 

 

Athos turned to his brothers, making certain everyone was safe and unharmed, before pointing to the woman. "We should take her with us." She had caused them to be captured, but he could not leave her here on her own.

 

"I'll get here," Aramis offered, moving to her side. He helped her to her feet, offering his sympathy for her loss, before guiding her back to the others. "I'll let her collect a few things before we head out."

 

"I'll get the horses and our weapons," Porthos offered. "We'll have to take one of their mounts for her and send someone back here to deal with the bodies when we home."

 

Athos nodded agreement. "If they're still here." He knew that people were scavengers at heart and all types would pass this way before they returned. But that was not his concern. He turned his attention to D'Artagnan. "Are you all right?"

 

D'Artagnan nodded. "I'm fine."

 

"You saved my life," Athos said softly. "Thank you."

 

"That's what we do, isn't it? No thanks are necessary." D'Artagnan would not look at him as he spoke.

 

It hit Athos then, that D'Artagnan felt uncertain and uncomfortable and he could guess it was because of what he'd done, his seduction of Ravonne. "What you did for me - " he began.

 

Only for D'Artagnan to cut him off. "I'd do it again. It meant nothing. That is...I mean..." Flustered, he turned to walk away but Athos caught him by the arm. D'Artagnan froze, trembling slightly.

 

"It means everything to me, and I know it was not easy for you." Gently but firmly, Athos turned D'Artagnan to face him. "Look at me," he commanded, and he stood fast until dark eyes lifted to his face. "Do not be ashamed for what you did. I am nothing but proud and grateful."

 

"Proud?" D'Artagnan echoed, looking surprised. 

 

Athos nodded. "Very proud," he confirmed. "What you did saved us all. Now, let's join the others and go home." He could feel the change in D'Artagnan, how the taut body relaxed and relief now shone in the dark eyes. The boy's confidence was seeping back.

 

Within and hour they were back on the road home. As darkness fell and no Inn was in sight, they made camp beneath the stars, grateful that the summer air was warm. They worked as a unit. After hobbling the horses, Athos and Porthos went in search of firewood while also scanning the surrounding area for threats, while D'Artagnan went to fill the water bags from the creek nearby. Aramis remained with the woman, who hadn't spoken a word to them, keeping watch over her as he searched their supplies for something to cook for supper.

 

As D'Artagnan returned with full waterbags, he felt weighed down and somewhat disconnected. He had no regrets about what he'd done to save Athos, but at the same time he felt off-balanced. Enough so that he was slightly distracted, so it took him a moment to notice that something was wrong. 

 

The camp site was deserted. Or so it seemed. As he broke into a run, D'Artagnan spotted a body crumpled on the ground. Aramis. He dropped the water skins and ran to the other man's side, skidding to a stop beside him. His hand shook as he reached out to check if Aramis was breathing. Rolling him onto his back, D'Artagnan pressed a hand over his chest and almost sobbed in relief to feel a steady heartbeat. There was a rock lying beside the Musketeer's head and the woman was missing, so it wasn't hard to put two and two together. 

 

Just as D'Artagnan made to rise to his feet, a shot rang out and he felt a streak of fire across his upper arm, followed by the throb of burning pain. He gasped as he turned to see the woman standing twenty yards away, Aramis' pistol in one hand. Knowing she would have to reload to fire again, D'Artagnan ignored the pain in his arm and started running.

 

She saw him coming fast and dropped the pistol, lifted her skirts and raced off.

 

* * *

 

Athos and Porthos heard the shot and, as one, dropped the branches they had gathered and ran for the camp. The were shocked to see Aramis lying on the ground, struggling to sit up. 

 

Porthos reached him first, helping him to his feet. "Are you hurt? Who shot you? I don't see any blood." He was rambling and couldn't stop himself as he ran his hands over his friend.

 

"I'm fine, Porthos." Aramis half-heartedly smacked the big man's hands off him. "I wasn't shot, that damn woman hit me over the head."

 

"With this," Athos interjected, holding up a large rock. "Are you sure you're all right?"

 

Aramis shrugged, one hand running over the back of his head. "My head aches a bit, I won't lie, but it's nothing serious. I'm more angry than anything." He frowned as he noticed something in the distance. Running over to the spot, he scooped up his pistol. "It's mine. She must have taken it."

 

Athos nodded. "And fired it and the only other person who's missing at the moment is D'Artagnan." He couldn't keep the worry from his voice.

 

"There's no body," Porthos pointed out, earning twin glares. He scowled at his friends. "That's a good thing, it means D'Artagnan is alive."

 

"But where is he?" Aramis countered.

 

Eyes scanning his surroundings, Athos followed his instinct and pointed towards where the creek meandered around the ravine. "Let's go find him." And the boy had better be safe and sound. If that woman had done him harm, God rest her soul, for Athos would put an end to her existence in this world. With that thought in mind, he took off running, his companions close behind him.

 

* * *

 

D'Artagnan ran after the woman, surprised by her speed, although he realized he was hampered by his gunshot wound. He was losing blood and feeling a bit light-headed, but he persevered, pushing himself faster when he noticed she was heading for the small bluff. If she got to close to the edge she would slip over. 

 

As if his thoughts had willed it to be so, the woman ran straight for the edge. 

 

"Watch out!" D'Artagnan shouted, but she had already gotten too close and she stumbled and fell, falling forward, screaming as she started to slide over the edge. D'Artagnan didn't hesitate, he launched himself forward, reaching out with his left hand and grabbing her around the wrist as she toppled over the side. He forgot about the pain in his arm, forgot about everything but scrabbling with his other hand for something to catch hold of before her momentum dragged them both over.

 

Amazingly enough, D'Artagnan's fingers bumped into a twisted root sticking out of the ground and he clung to it with all his strength, bringing them to a full stop, but leaving the woman dangling free over the edge. Her weight pulled on D'Artagnan's arm and he cried out as he felt something pop in his shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and didn't let go. He only hoped his friends would realize he was gone and search for, and find him, soon. 

 

* * *

 

Heart in his throat, Athos ran, relying on instinct at first, but soon he took note of the fact that there was blood staining the ground and he followed the trail. It didn't take long before he caught sight of D'Artagnan, lying on the ground near the edge of the bluff. "D'Artagnan!" he cried, running faster, hearing Aramis and Porthos pounding hard behind him.

 

Reaching D'Artagnan, Athos fell to his knees, seeing how the boy was clinging to the woman who was thrashing about and dragging D'Artagnan closer and closer to the edge.. Athos didn't waste any time. "Aramis help me brace him, grab his legs! Porthos, grab the woman!"

 

As one they fell to their tasks and a moment later the woman was back on solid ground, lying in a heap and weeping. Athos didn't spare her a glance, all his focus was on D'Artagnan. The boy was lying there, breathing heavily, face pale and eyes glazed with pain.

 

It was Aramis who noticed the blood on his arm. "You're hurt!" he exclaimed, pushing Athos aside so he could examine the wound. But the moment he touched D'Artagnan's arm and the boy whimpered in pain, he froze. He knew something more was wrong. "D'Artagnan?" Reaching out, Aramis pressed a hand to the boy's cheek, tapping softly until the dark eyes were focused on him. "Tell me what hurts."

 

"Shoulder," D'Artagnan forced out, between gritted teeth. Just the simple act of breathing made an agonizing wave of pain ripple from his shoulder straight down into his fingertips. 

 

"I have to touch you to check it," Aramis stated. "But I think I know what happened. The pull of her weight when she was hanging over the edge may have popped your shoulder out." 

 

D'Artagnan knew that Aramis was right, but he didn't have the breath to tell him that. He couldn't swallow back a whimper as the Musketeer manipulated his shoulder for a moment, and he felt darkness waver over him for a moment before the pain finally eased enough to allow him to breathe freely.

 

Athos was locked on D'Artagnan's face, seeing the pain the boy was suffering and wishing he could take it upon himself. He wanted to pull Aramis away from him, to stop him from causing D'Artagnan agony. Instead he pulled himself together and focused. "Can you fix it?"

 

"I can," Aramis allowed, but it's going to be painful."

 

"It...it already is," D'Artagnan hissed.

 

Aramis sighed. "I wish I could give you something, but I have nothing with me and we need to do this right now. Your shoulder is already starting to swell and then I won't be able to put it back in place."

 

D'Artagnan was not happy about it, but he understood. "Do what you have to do." Turns out that meant his three friends, under Aramis' guidance, set about sitting him up, removing his weapons belt and jacket then, with Porthos holding and supporting him and Athos practically sitting on his legs, Aramis gripped D'Artagnan's left hand, his other hand on the hurt shoulder. 

 

"On the count of three," Aramis announced, eyes locked on D'Artagnan's face, even as his fingers pressed into the hurt shoulder. "Ready?"

 

"Ready," D'Artagnan muttered, as he closed his eyes and waited for the pain.

 

Aramis squeezed his hand in sympathy then began to count. "One...two..." without warning he pulled hard, rotating D'Artagnan's arm until there was a strange click sound as he pushed back in.

 

The pain was excruciating and D'Artagnan felt his body stiffen even as he bit his lip to hold back a scream. He'd never felt anything like it, not even being shot hurt with this intensity. But as fast and hard as the pain came, it was gone. The agony washing away and settling over him as a aching throb that was doable. The relief was such that D'Artagnan couldn't hold back a sob, his body shuddering in reaction.

 

"I've got you...I've got you," Porthos whispered softly, his strong arms and body wrapped warmly around D'Artagnan, supporting him as he went suddenly limp. He had expected the boy to scream at the agony, feeling him go taut and shudder then sob softly, just once, was almost worse. As limp as D'Artagnan suddenly was, his slender body was still trembling as if wracked by shivers.

 

"You did so well," Athos interjected, moving to cup D'Artagnan's pale face in both hands. "It's over, you can rest." He said this because the boy was trembling, his dark eyes glazed with pain and exhaustion, but he hadn't let go of consciousness and Athos just wanted him to give in so the pain would be gone, if only for a little while. So he was relieved when D'Artagnan gave a tiny sigh and closed his eyes.

 

Aramis was busy, never having stopped once the shoulder was back in place. He felt shaky and out of sorts, hating having to cause such pain to their youngest. D'Artagnan had been through so much on this day, this was not the way he wanted it to end. And if the dislocated shoulder was not enough, the boy had been shot as well. "I need my supplies and to bind his shoulder before we move him back to camp."

 

Athos was on his feet. "How bad is the wound?"

 

"Just a graze, it should heal without stitching," Aramis replied, glad to be able to give a modicum of good news for a change.

 

"I'll go back and grab your supplies," Athos volunteered. "Do you need anything in particular?"

 

Aramis considered. "Just my bag and the bottle of whiskey in Porthos' saddle bag." The woman the big Musketeer had slept with had given them more than just food and for that Aramis was grateful.

 

Porthos didn't even complain about the whiskey, it was going to a good cause, helping their youngest. "What do you need me to do?" he queried. 

 

"Just let D'Artagnan rest," Aramis replied. 

 

"I'll be right back," Athos stated, turning and running off. He noticed the woman was where they'd left her and he felt a twinge of guilt. It had been his idea to bring her back with them and because of it both Aramis and D'Artagnan had suffered. Both of them could have died. But he would deal with all of that at a later time. Once back to their camp site, Athos grabbed the bottle of whiskey, Aramis' bag, then he mounted Roger and raced back to his brothers.

 

Aramis made short work of cleaning the graze and binding it, then he took long strips of bandages and basically strapped D'Artagnan's arm to his chest to immobilize it. As he tied it off and leaned back to study his work, he was surprised to see D'Artagnan watching him. He'd thought the boy was still unconscious, but now he wondered if he'd been out of it at all. "How are you feeling?" Aramis asked.

 

D'Artagnan frowned at him. "Been better," he finally replied, before lifting his good arm and holding it out. "Help me up." Between Aramis easing him up and Porthos rising with him and almost lifting him to his feet, D'Artagnan was up and standing, although his body rebelled against him. He felt dizzy, nauseous and black spots danced before his eyes. He tried to plant his feet and remain stable, only to realize Athos was in front of him, eyes locked on his face, looking anxious and worried.

 

"Are you all right?" Athos asked, not for the first time. He was afraid to touch D'Artagnan, afraid to hurt him, but the boy was deathly pale and weaving on his feet. At least Porthos was behind him, supporting him. "D'Artagnan?"

 

"I'm...I'm good," D'Artagnan mumbled, trying to regain his balance and his thoughts. He managed to hold Athos' gaze and his voice was firm as he stated, "I'm fine. Let's go." He let himself be led over to Roger, where Aramis was waiting. 

 

The dashing Musketeer looked worried as well, but he smiled at D'Artagnan. "I'm going to ride with you. It'll be a slow journey back, but once camp is set up you can rest."

 

D'Artagnan nodded, letting Porthos help him into the saddle. He felt Aramis swing up behind him and felt the need to point out, "I can make it on my own."

 

"Humor me," Aramis countered. "To be honest, my head is aching and I don't mind riding rather than walking."

 

"Your head!" D'Artagnan exclaimed, having forgotten about the other man's injury. "Forgive me," he was quick to apologize. "Are you all right?"

 

Aramis guided Roger forward before replying. "I'm fine, D'Artagnan. Porthos will tell you I have a hard head. No harm done other than a bit of an ache."

 

D'Artagnan was relieved, until another thought hit him. "The woman! Is she allright? Where is she?" He tried to twist in the saddle to glance back, only to moan as his shoulder jostled and pain stabbed through him like a white-hot blade.

 

"Easy!" Aramis supported D'Artagnan as the boy slumped, body curling in as he rode out the pain. Once the moment was past he shifted to support the slender body more fully before replying, "The woman is fine. Porthos and Athos are taking her with them. They'll probably beat us back."

 

"I couldn't let her fall," D'Artagnan muttered, wincing as his shoulder twinged. Even going slow, the ground was uneven and Roger's gait was unsteady. 

 

Aramis hummed an agreement. "You did a good thing, D'Artagnan. Now just let yourself rest, I'll guide us back." 

D'Artagnan found it easier to obey than argue, so he focused instead on handling the pain, for the ride back to camp seemed to go on for miles. But they eventually made it and they found Athos preparing a fire, while Porthos had laid out their cloaks, setting up a make-shift bed for D'Artagnan. He wanted to protest lying down, but he was too weary to make the effort and fearful that if he opened his mouth, the only sound that would come out was a moan of pain. He ached from head to toe.

 

So Aramis found it easy to get D'Artagnan settled, although he had a bit of a fight on his hands getting the boy to swallow some water he had laced with a powder that would ease his pain a bit. It was Athos who ordered D'Artagnan to drink it and, after a bit of a glaring contest, the boy conceded defeat.

 

By nightfall D'Artagnan was sound asleep, while his companions finished up their dinner of cooked rabbit and bread, along with a bottle of wine. The woman had refused to eat and they hadn't forced her. She sat off to the side, wrapped in her cloak, hands bound, unmoving as she stared at the fire. 

 

Porthos got up to put more branches on the fire before checking on D'Artagnan. The boy was restless but still sleeping, and Porthos wished he could do something to help east his pain. But he settled for rejoining his companions with the hope that he could talk some sense into Athos. Porthos knew the other man blamed himself for what happened to Aramis and D'Artagnan, and that the guilt would eat away at him, weighing him down until it crushed him. 

 

"Is he still sleeping?" Aramis asked about D'Artagnan, as Porthos sat back down near the fire.

 

"He's restless but still out," Porthos replied, knowing that Aramis already knew and was just making conversation. Both he and Athos were watching the boy like hawks. But they all felt the need to watch over their youngest, for D'Artagnan brought their protective instincts out in full force. He was their little brother and they would do everything in their power to keep him safe. Although today, he had been the one to save them. Porthos was proud of the boy and later, when D'Artagnan was feeling better, he would tell him so. 

 

Athos reached for the bottle of wine, having claimed most of it for himself. "I should have left her behind," he muttered, glancing over at the woman.

 

Aramis followed his gaze. "What happened, happened. Let it go, my friend. We're all here and well enough. Overall it's been a good day."

 

"What he said," Porthos chimed in, reaching out to snag the bottle from Athos' grasp. He made a show of finishing the rest of the contents, then he stretched out and pillowed his head on his arm. "Wake me up for second watch." He figured enough had been said and now it was up to Athos to accept the truth and move on. Porthos would step in to nudge him if needed, but for now they all needed to rest then get D'Artagnan home on the morrow.

 

* * *

 

They got a late start the next morning. D'Artagnan insisted he was fine to ride, but he was pale and unwilling to eat, which the others knew was because of the pain that was making him nauseous. Still, they had no choice but to ride out, all of them anxious to get D'Artagnan back home.

 

Because they kept the horses at a walk, it was slow-going, with D'Artagnan gritting his teeth all the way. They made two stops, with the boy protesting, but Aramis insisted, and the second stop he made D'Artagnan rest, enforcing it by giving him a bit of the powder. 

 

"How is he, really?" Athos asked, as he watched Aramis drape a blanket over D'Artagnan.

 

"He's developed a bit of a fever," Aramis allowed, heaving a sigh. "He needs to rest in bed and eat to keep his strength up."

 

Athos nodded. "We'll get back on the road in two hours and we should reach the Garrison by nightfall. When we're close I want you and Porthos to ride ahead with the woman. My rooms are bigger, so we'll take D'Artagnan there to rest and heal. Gather what you need while Porthos hands off the woman to Treville and tells him what happened, then meet me at my place."

 

Aramis managed a tired smile. "Good plan." He then sat down beside D'Artagnan, keeping watch over his charge while resting his own aching head.

 

* * *

 

They followed Athos' plan and reached Paris by nightfall. Athos rode close to D'Artagnan, who looked ready to topple off his horse at any moment. They made it to his rooms without incident, D'Artagnan swallowing a whimper as Athos helped him to dismount.

 

"Why are we here and not the Garrison?" D'Artagnan asked, as Athos handed off their horses to a young boy who would return them to the stables, as he had often done. 

 

"My rooms are more comfortable and you'll need a quiet place to recover," Athos replied, moving to help they boy, only to freeze when D'Artagnan waved him off.

 

Stubborn to the core, D'Artagnan made his way inside on his own, even though his body felt heavy and each step was unsteady. Pain throbbed throughout his body, keeping time with his heartbeat, and he felt dizzy and his vision was unfocused, but he would make his own way come hell or high water. 

 

Porthos and Aramis were waiting for him, hovering in the doorway. D'Artagnan waved them off as well, but paused just inside to catch his breath. Forcing a smile, he looked at his friends and asked, "Any chance I could wash up a bit?" He felt hot and sweaty and itchy and he longed to be clean. 

 

"I can arrange that," Athos replied, glancing at Aramis to confirm. When the other man nodded, Athos headed back out. He had a tub in the small room in the back and there was a boy who was willing to fill it for a sous. 

 

"While we wait, come sit," Aramis beseeched D'Artagnan, guiding him over to the small table by the window. There were several candles lit and simple fare laid out. Bread, cheese and water. "Eat a bit, it'll settle your stomach." He knew the young Musketeer was feeling nauseous because of the pain, but an empty stomach just made the feeling worse, and D'Artagnan could not afford to lose any more weight. Right before D'Artagnan took his bath, Aramis would give him some wine laced with a drug that would ease his pain and fever and help him to sleep. 

 

Food was the last thing D'Artagnan wanted, but he accepted a piece of bread and nibbled at it. "Where's the woman?" he asked.

 

Porthos grunted. "I brought her to Treville and told him what happened. He's deciding her fate in the morning."

 

"She deserves a second chance," D'Artagnan replied, after swallowing a bite of bread down with a gulp of water. "As do we all."

 

"You have a kind heart," Athos commented, having entered the room in time to hear D'Artagnan's words.

 

Shifting to face the other man, D'Artagnan stated, "We all deserve a second chance. I know you believe that to be true. You gave your wife one...and me."

 

Athos sighed. "Some would sake that makes me a fool, not kind."

 

"I can thing of some better ways to describe you," Porthos offered, grinning.

 

"At what word should we use to describe our young friend here," Aramis countered, as he offered D'Artagnan the goblet of drugged wine. 

 

Athos smiled. "Brave," he stated, as he watched the boy drink. He knew the wine would be drugged and he approved. D'Artagnan had spent to much time suffering, he needed relief. He had earned it.

 

D'Artagnan snorted. "I'm surprised you didn't call me stupid."

 

"You do foolish things at times," Athos allowed, as do we all. "But you are anything but stupid. You are brave and loyal and honorable."

 

"I couldn't agree more," Aramis interjected, raising his own goblet in a toast. D'Artagnan looked a bit embarrassed as they all raised their glasses, but he took another sip of wine before pushing out of his chair. "Is the water ready?"

 

Athos nodded. "It is. But the bath comes with a condition, one of us helps you."

 

D'Artagnan pinned Athos with a glare. "I don't need help!" he snarled, even as he wavered on his feet.

 

"I take it back," Athos countered, holding D'Artagnan's glare. "You are a bit stupid." He watched D'Artagnan sputter for a moment, only to whimper and nearly topple over had Porthos not supported him. "I think it's straight to bed for you," he stated.

 

"Wait!" D'Artagnan held up his good hand, his eyes and voice both pleading. "I want the bath, so I'll...I'll accept the help."

 

Athos was pleased and about to volunteer, when Porthos beat him to it. 

 

The big Musketeer steered D'Artagnan into the back room. "We'll make short work of it then get you settled."

 

And he was true to his word. Within ten minutes D'Artagnan was washed up, dried off, dressed in clean shirt and smalls borrowed from Athos, then tucked into the bed. The boy was pretty much asleep by the time the blankets were draped over him, but Porthos leaned in to whisper, "Best word to describe you is Hero. That's what you were today...our hero. Sweet dreams, D'Artagnan."

 

Aramis took Porthos' place to check on D'Artagnan, fussing a bit before declaring they leave him be to sleep.

 

Athos waved them both off. "Head home, I'll keep watch over him."

 

"We'll be back in the morning with breakfast," Aramis replied, guiding Porthos towards the door. They were both too wound up to sleep themselves, so they would have a few drinks, play some cards, then go home to rest. "But I'll check back in on him in a few hours."

 

"Fine." Athos knew what their routine would be. "Good night." Once he was alone with D'Artagnan, he pulled a chair over to the bed, propping his feet on the edge and shifting so that he could stretch out to doze. If Aramis said D'Artagnan would be fine and just needed rest, then he believed him. So he would now take what rest he could. 

 

Only D'Artagnan was restless, shifting onto his good side, facing Athos. His eyes fluttered open, coming to rest on his mentor. "...not stupid..." he mumbled, belligerently, sounding all of about six years old.

 

Athos chuckled, reaching out to smooth a lock of damp hair off his forehead. "No...not stupid," he allowed. "I agree with Porthos. You're a hero, D'Artagnan." He wondered if the boy would even remember his words later.

 

"...hero..." D'Artagnan echoed, sounding pleased. He eyelids drooped but he forced them back open long enough to whisper, "You're my hero," before drifting back into warm slumber.

 

The praise struck Athos like a punch in the belly. D'Artagnan considered him his hero. The magnitude of it was terrifying and also humbling. Athos would take up the challenge of it. "I will do my best," he promised, before settling back into a comfortable position and letting his own eyes drift closed. 

 

And both heroes slept soundly till dawn.

 

THE END


End file.
